Author: Lisa J Radcliff

"Oh, magnify the Lord with me, and let us exalt his name together." ~ Psalm 34:3 This has been the theme verse for my life since I married Doug in 1985. I hope to write thoughts and stories that will magnify the Lord and cause others to praise him with me. As a survivor of child sexual abuse and other experiences that left me fearful and hopeless, I am so thankful that God has turned my life around. Having found freedom from my past, I have been blessed with a full, joy-filled life. I am passionate about sharing my story with others to bring them hope. My book, Hidden with Christ: Breaking Free from the Grip of Your Past, is my story of overcoming CSA. It is written differently than most books on abuse, highlighting the "heroes" God put in my life who kept me from be swallowed up by the darkness of abuse. God has used the book to help others find freedom which gives me great joy. The biggest joys of my life are being married to my husband, Doug, raising our three boys, welcoming our three daughters-in-law into the family, and being Mom-mom to our nine grandchildren! In addition, I have served in youth ministry and taught women's Bible Study for over 30 years.

That Other Christmas Trip

As I’m putting away the Christmas decorations, I’m thinking about the way the first Christmas ended. Not with storing the stockings and jingle bells for next year, but with a trip to the temple in Jerusalem.

I hadn’t really thought about the fact that Mary, Joseph, and Jesus took a trip to Jerusalem about seven days after his birth, but it’s recorded in Luke 2:22, 24:

“And when the time came for their purification according to the Law of Moses, they brought him up to Jerusalem to present him to the Lord and to offer a sacrifice according to what is said in the Law of the Lord, ‘a pair of turtledoves, or two young pigeons.’”

We hear about Mary and Joseph’s trek to Bethlehem and lament with Mary about walking or riding on a donkey over hill and dale while carrying a full-term baby. But their next trip could not have been much easier. In fact, I would prefer to travel while pregnant over traveling with a newborn, even the short distance from Bethlehem to Jerusalem.

Traveling while pregnant is uncomfortable, but traveling with a newborn is a whole different ballgame. You don’t just grab your purse, phone, and keys and jump in the car. You pack a diaper bag, throw in the stroller and port-a-crib, make sure the car seat is appropriately secured, and don’t forget the extra clothes and clean-up supplies for when the baby spits up all over you. Ugh.

Okay, maybe Mary and Joseph didn’t pack a lot of extras, but they did make a trip to Jerusalem with a newborn. I think she took that trip with Jesus clutched to her chest, if she was as nervous as I was bringing my first baby home from the hospital. How many times did she tell Joseph to be careful or to slow down guiding the donkey?

 As I took a closer look at that trip, the reason for it struck me: it was for their purification. The birth of Jesus made Mary unclean. His conception was miraculous, but his birth was typical, albeit in a stable and announced by angels. A typical birth included bleeding. Bleeding required purification. The Law of Moses in Leviticus 12 says that “if a woman conceives and bears a male child, she shall be unclean for seven days.” Verse 4 is what really made me think. “Then she shall continue for thirty-three days in the blood of her purifying. She shall not touch anything holy, nor come into the sanctuary, until the days of her purifying are completed.”

I pictured Mary, unable to enter the sanctuary or touch anything holy, holding Jesus—the holiest of holies. How ironic! She was there to offer sacrifices (two turtledoves) for her purification. For the following thirty-three days, Mary wasn’t to touch anything holy. During that time, she would have held baby Jesus, nursed him, changed him, bathed him, burped him, patted him, and rocked him to sleep (or bounced him on her knees to sleep, if he was anything like my babies). She was a mom with an extraordinary yet typical baby who needed her touch in many ways.

She lovingly handled that holy baby, as the days of her purifying were completed and beyond. How many times did she pick him up to comfort him or cuddle him? She was kept away from the sanctuary, but not from the one who made it holy.

One day, her baby would shed his own blood, the holiness of which would fully cleanse her from her sin. There would be no more need for sacrifices of turtledoves or days of purification or trips to faraway places dragging along all the newborn gear. His blood would take away the sin of the world. They named him Jesus, for he would save his people from their sins.

Missed It!

Did you see it, or did you miss it? I’m talking about the aurora borealis—the Northern Lights. I missed it, but I tried really hard to see it.

photo courtesy of cousin Wendy Radcliff

At 7:40pm on Thursday night, a text from a friend who lives maybe two miles from our house announced the Northern Lights show had begun. He included a pretty pink picture to prove it. We scurried outside and searched the sky, but there were too many tall trees. So, we hopped into the car and headed off hoping to hunt them down.

Our first stop was the turnpike bridge less than a mile from our house. It provided a perfect position to peruse the northern horizon but no lights. We moved on, deciding to drive up to Ridge Road. It is named that because, in case you hadn’t guessed, it rolls along a ridge. We assumed our elevated search would result in seeing stupendous streaks of light. But the only lights were illuminating little athletes legging it out in local parks. We tried the airport. No aurora. We kept on searching as we sped along the ridge but saw none of the pinks, purples, and greens that were lighting up Facebook.

It seemed that everyone was seeing the Northern Lights but us. Since we had gone this far, we kept on going to the lake that many said was the most auspicious area to ascertain the aurora. There were lots of cars coming and going and a large party parked on an overpass, but all we saw was darkness, so we pressed on. At 9:15pm we drove down our dark driveway, disappointed we missed the dazzling display.

Looking at others’ pictures and comments that the lights were still visible, I sprinted outside, hoping to see a single shimmer or shaft. But there was only darkness and crickets, one of which took advantage of the open door and would probably chirp all night. But that’s okay. I could run outside every hour or so to check for the fleeting fluorescence.

A few friends said to focus my phone’s camera and take photos even if it feels futile. The camera was sure to find fugacious flashes. It didn’t. I wondered why. Photos from friends were phenomenal. I was in the same spots they had stopped. How had the luminaries eluded me?

I think it was a combination of things. I was dressed dandy for our spontaneous excursion but not to remain outside for a prolonged period. We didn’t stop and wait for the lights to appear. We just kept meandering and monitoring. We thought we were honed in on the northern horizon, but maybe we weren’t even headed in the right direction. Whatever the reason, the night wore on and all we could do was delight in others’ descriptions of their dynamic discoveries (secretly wondering if it was all an elaborate ruse).

There is another astronomical event that we are sure will not allude us—Jesus coming back in the clouds. Like my search for the Northern Lights, some are looking in the wrong direction (Jesus said, “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” John 14:6) Some aren’t prepared, and others think it’s just a conspiracy theory (Therefore, you also must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an hour you do not expect. Matthew 24:44)

Though we don’t know the specific day and time, it could be soon, so I’ll keep watching and waiting. This is one cataclysmic atmospheric luminescent event I’m sure I won’t miss. You won’t need your camera to capture the Light of the World. He will be evident to all. (Then will appear in heaven the sign of the Son of Man, and all the tribes of the earth will mourn, and they will see the Son of Man coming on the cloud of heaven with power and great glory. Matthew 24:30)

If you’re not sure you’re prepared for his appearing, ask me about it. And if you have great pictures of the aurora borealis, share them with me. I’d love to see their splendiferousness.

Look, he is coming with the clouds, and every eye will see him (Revelation 1:7a NIV).

Monochrome Life

Does your life ever feel monochrome? Gray? Boring, lacking color or vibrancy? That’s what I thought about as I looked out at the scene before me. Gray rocks, gray water, gray sky. The mountain, too, would be gray, if it wasn’t socked in behind the gray fog. A darker gray line delineated the horizon. There is beauty in it if you’re willing to see past the bleakness.

As I sat there looking into the gray water and sky, I thought how this is the way I sometimes see my life. Chronic pain is its monochrome feature. Always there, some days with the heaviness of darker, stormier gray, other times just a little misty gray fog.

Glancing to my left, the late July huckleberry bushes were covered in green huckleberries. More monochrome, only green, making it difficult to distinguish the berries from the leaves. But then I noticed a few of the huckleberries had started to ripen. A lot were green, but some were pink, some were a deep wine, and others were already purple. It won’t be long until they will bring joy to a little girl I know who loves to pick them.

The changing berries gave me renewed hope. Life is not monochrome forever. Even today, I can tell the sun is trying to burn off the fog and gray clouds. A brightness comes and goes bringing hope for a more colorful day ahead. Sometimes it just takes a little time.

My monochrome of chronic pain will have its season. But there will be colorful times interspersed, even during days when the pain is great. There are friendships that bring hot-pink laughter. There are soothing violet pleasures in reading a good book. There are happy, bright yellow squeals from grandchildren. There is the deep blue calm of prayer. The monochrome that tries to take over gets pushed back just a little.

And when the gray lingers, it is a reminder to lean on the one who created the full spectrum of color. He has chosen which colors to use in just the right amount to create his masterpiece. He knows when to blend in other colors and when to just leave the gray. One day, when we look back at the design he has chosen for each of us, we will be amazed at the beauty the grays brought to our lives.

Embrace your monochrome days. They have beauty and purpose and will make the colors around them even more glorious. And just maybe with a little time, they will give way to unexpected vibrant-colored joys.

For I consider the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us. Romans 8:17 ESV

The Beauty of Hope

The beauty of spring is all around us. Sometimes Doug and I are amazed that God has provided such a beautiful place for us to live. While driving into town this week, Doug pointed out two routes that are faster than the one I was taking. I know there are faster routes, but the one I take is so pretty—red buds and dogwoods in full bloom, azaleas, tulips, and cherry tree blossoms swirling in the breeze. The natural beauty is complemented by lovely, restored Pennsylvania farmhouses and barns. This route is definitely worth an extra two minutes.

My favorite spot is a pasture encompassed by a split rail fence. It is home to two caramel-colored horses. And today, the pasture was covered with thousands of little yellow buttercups. Beyond the pasture is a picturesque view of the valley. It’s at an intersection, an easy spot to stop for a few extra seconds, taking in the scene. I was thinking I should write a blog on God’s beauty reflected in his creation.

But then, while at my infusion appointment, the doctor told me he doesn’t recommend doing any more infusions. They don’t seem to be making any difference in how I feel. This is my sixth one, and if I don’t feel any better, they probably aren’t going to work. The hope that I felt six weeks ago was lost as the last infusion dripped through the IV.

On my drive home, the same route I took to get there, I didn’t notice any of the beauty I had earlier. Nothing had changed along the way. The trees, flowers, houses, barns, even the horses were still there. But I had lost hope. We see everything differently when we have hope. But when hope is lost, even the beauty around us fades.

I tried to pull myself out of hopelessness. After all, what had really changed? The treatment didn’t work. So what? It didn’t make my condition worse. It just wasn’t going to bring healing. The only thing lost was some time and a boatload of money—but nothing of eternal value. One more thing can be crossed off my list of possible treatments. But I was struggling with this outcome, dwelling on it to the point of missing the beauty all around me.

Then I got a text from a friend who didn’t know what had happened with me today. She sent me a song by Matthew West called Don’t Stop Praying (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bpbZqMJ-B44). She didn’t know where I was in my spirit, but God did. He knew, he cared, and he rescued me—the same things he has done for me over and over again. You might even say, he showed me his beauty, which never changes from season to season, regardless of my circumstances.

 It’s okay (maybe even necessary) to grieve what is lost, whether that is people, finances, health, or anything else. God doesn’t expect us to ignore the difficult things in our lives and just move on. But he does comfort and strengthen us through those things, and then he refocuses us on himself. When we turn our attention to him in prayer, our hope is renewed, and his beauty fills our eyes and permeates our spirits.

This door in having my health restored has closed, but I’m going to take Matthew West’s advice: don’t stop praying! And I’ll get to that blog about God’s beauty another day (or did I do it anyway?).

“Rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer” (Romans 12:12 ESV).

Treasure Hunting

Last week, three of my besties and I spent seven glorious days together in Florida, close to the Treasure Coast. It is aptly named because of the many Spanish galleons that shipwrecked along the coast, spilling their gold and silver into the Atlantic Ocean. Treasure hunters have been finding lost treasures on the beaches of the Treasure Coast for decades. We had the privilege of running into a bona fide treasure hunter during our visit.

He was coming up from the beach, carrying a metal detector and large scooper, so we asked him if he found anything. He said, “I didn’t even start looking—the sand is too packed here.”

We asked, “What’s the best thing you’ve found?”

We were a little surprised when he answered, “A Spanish coin from the 1500’s.” What?! That’s when the conversation really got moving and we learned that he is, indeed, a real treasure hunter (and a retired sheriff). He has authored six books on treasure hunting and is called “The Legend.” He showed us pictures of the many cool treasures he has found. We had a great talk with him and learned all kinds of things, including where to find the beaches with free parking and the best snorkeling. And, of course, we found the real “treasure,” treasure hunter, Terry Shannon.

As I reflected on our week in the Florida sun, and all the experiences we shared, I realized we had found other treasure too. Our treasures weren’t Spanish coins, belt buckles, or silver bracelets. They were meeting people, relaxing in the warm sun, seeing a rocket launch, laughing (a lot), eating great food, and doing it all together. The most precious treasure we found was building the relationships we have with each other. And if you know any of us, you know we formed new relationships with everyone we met.

Life is all about relationships. Just ask my children—they heard that so many times growing up, if you say, “Life is all about…”, they will respond, “relationships.” They may do it with a bit of a groan (I never let an opportunity to say it pass by). The Bible is quite clear on this point. Matthew 6:19-20 (ESV) says, “Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal, but lay up for yourselves treasure in heaven, where neither moth or rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal.” Treasure in heaven—the things that will last forever.

It’s cool that “The Legend” has scrapbooks filled with gold and silver coins. And I’m sure it’s a thrill to find something like that in the sand. But they won’t last. The time spent together, the encouragement, the shared laughter and a few tears, the talks about spiritual things, the prayers, challenging each other in what is biblical and what is not, even protecting each other from all the creepy crawlies on a jungle hike—these are the things that will last forever, treasure in heaven.

My Real-Life Hallmark Romance

Could one of those predictable Hallmark romances ever happen in real life? After watching about a dozen of them this holiday season, I realized that my love story has all the elements of a typical Hallmark movie, including a cute pickup truck.

My husband, Doug, and I met—well, I’m not sure when we met. We have known each other since we were kids, growing up attending the same church. What I do remember is when I first noticed him, I didn’t like him. I thought he was snobby. He wasn’t just popular, he was THE popular kid. And he always wore very short white tennis shorts. I thought he must really like his legs, which was weird.

Then I reached the pinnacle of church-grown youth: high school. All of us kids dreamed of the summer we would get to participate in the youth group and all the fun, cool things they did. Since Doug was three years older than me, I entered the high school youth group when he was a senior. I learned that year that he wasn’t weird or snobby. He was friendly and kind but a bit shy, especially around girls.

A year later, nine teenagers and two chaperones loaded up a fifteen-passenger van on a summer afternoon and took off for a week in Maine. That week sparked something between us. A rustic cabin on a lake, daily special activities, beautiful sunsets, star-filled night skies—it was the quintessential Hallmark week-long romance.

We swam, walked, sang, prayed, laughed, hiked, and grew close. I slipped climbing a mountain, and Doug caught me, forcing us into each other’s arms. I sheepishly thanked him as he put me back on my feet. The connection we were creating became electric. As we sat together in the van on the way back to the cabin, I fell asleep with my head on Doug’s shoulder. That became routine, as did back rubs in front of the fireplace.

One evening, we went on a moonlit canoe ride. Another, we laid on our backs, stargazing side-by-side. One chilly morning, Doug took off his down vest and wrapped me in it, leaving his arms around me for a long moment. It was obvious there was something special between us.

After returning home, Doug acted strangely. I assumed our connection would only grow after the week we spent together. But something was wrong. I asked Doug one day. “I thought we had something special going on. What happened?”

Doug replied, “Before our trip, I made a commitment to Young Life as a volunteer leader for one year. Because you’re a Young Life kid, we can’t date. But if you’ll wait a year, I would like to date you.”

“I’ll wait,” I affirmed.

Enter the villain. We had a mutual friend who had set her sights on Doug too. As part of her plan to get him and keep us apart, she told Doug I was dating someone else. Then she told me that she and Doug had started dating. I had noticed them together at times, but I didn’t ask him about her. I just took her word for it—a typical Hallmark movie relationship mistake.

It wasn’t too long after that development that Doug’s one-year ministry commitment ended. On the way home from a gathering with friends, I worked up the courage to ask him about his relationship with our mutual friend. “So, Mary told me that the two of you are seeing each other. How is that going?”

“What? I’m not dating Mary.” Doug looked shocked. “She told me you were dating Brad.”

“I’m not dating Brad. I’m not dating anyone.”

Doug pulled his truck into the church parking lot, which we just happened to be driving by at that moment. “We need to talk,” he said.

We spent about an hour walking around the church grounds talking. It didn’t take long to realize we had been duped but also that the feelings we had for each other the year before were still there. He asked me if I would go on a date with him.

Doug picked me up two days later for a picnic. We wandered through the woods and along a stream, where Doug pretended to push me in, which resulted in him holding me in his arms. The electric connection sparked wildly.

Three weeks after our first date, two days before Christmas, Doug and I were listening to the distinctive voice of Gordon Lightfoot singing “Beautiful” in the warm glow of Christmas lights when he kissed me. It was the sweetest kiss ever and still gives me butterflies when I think of it.

Three years later, on a beautiful spring day, I walked down the aisle of the church where we had grown up and vowed to be Doug’s wife with the words “I will, with the help of God.”

Honestly, if he had asked me to marry him at the end of that Hallmark-esque, one-week, barely-know-each-other, romantic trip to Maine, I would have said yes. So, don’t be so quick to write off those sappy, predictable Hallmark stories. Some of us have lived them and lived happily ever after (with the help of God).

“Oh, magnify the Lord with me and let us exalt his name together!” (Psalm 34:3 ESV – the verse we chose for our wedding program and our lives.)

“Read it again!”

“Read it again!” My friend, Susan, was bent over an ironing board trying to make two pieces of fabric come together to create a mitered corner. Somehow, the instructions were clearer when heard out loud, rather than reading them to herself. I read, she manipulated fabric, and finally, everything clicked, and the corner was nicely mitered. Sidebar – I don’t use mitered corners on my quilts, unless it’s absolutely necessary for the design, in which case, I choose a different design.

Last week, my daily reading took me to the portion of Exodus where God is giving Moses instructions on how to build the tabernacle and how to make the clothing for the priests, clothing that was made a certain way “for beauty and glory.” As I read, I couldn’t help but remember that day Susan and I were trying to figure out how to miter our quilt corners. I pictured the Israelites, perplexed, scratching their beards, yelling to Moses, “Read it again!”

Sometimes we don’t trust the instructions we’re given. It happened to me again just this week. Assembling the quilt block in the attached picture, I followed the instructions, but it just didn’t seem like the pieces could possibly come together to make the sailboat. I laid all the pieces out. I even overlapped them to account for the seams. But it just didn’t seem right. A few of the pieces were just too big. They couldn’t possibly fit together to make a 6 ½” block.

Maybe I cut the triangles the wrong size. That would account for the difference. I recut the triangles ¼” smaller and then sewed the pieces together. They didn’t fit. They were too small. Impossible. I went back to the original measurements given in the instructions, sewed all the little pieces together, and voila, a perfect little sailboat block.

How did they all come together correctly when it looked like they would never work? Someone with much greater knowledge than me had created the pattern, so they knew exactly how big each piece needed to be. I should have trusted the pattern maker.

Back in Exodus, God gave very specific instructions for the tabernacle, and then the temple. And his instructions were followed to the letter. They had to be. He would accept nothing less.

Today there is no tabernacle or temple. But we have something better. God sent Jesus in the flesh to tabernacle (live) with us. After his death, he sent the Holy Spirit to live within us, making our bodies his temple. And he gave us his living Word, full of wisdom and instructions, all we need for life and godliness (2 Peter 1:3).

We can trust the instructions he has given us because they are his design. He knows how it will all turn out, even when we don’t see how it could possibly work. As the creator and sustainer of all there is, his instructions are flawless and produce beauty and glory when followed.

And the best part is we can “read it again!” (out loud if necessary).

Momentary Troubles

The ideas for my morning with the littles flowed freely: “Mom-mom, let’s play ring-around-the-rosy. Mom-mom, let’s play duck-duck-goose, Mom-mom, chase me!” I love these kids and their energy and that they want me to play with them. But Mom-mom can’t run or jump anymore. And games that include falling down are definitely out (I do that enough on my own). I was quite content to sing and “march in the infantry” along with them. That’s about my speed. But they wanted more.

We settled on going outside to the playground. Five-year-old-in-two-days Everlee offered to help push the littler kids on the swings. It sounded doable. How was I to know that wet, freshly cut grass would be our undoing?

A few steps from the house, three-year-old Noel fell. The crying was not due to injury but the grass clippings that clung to her now-wet little legs. There was no consoling her. It only got worse when she discovered the teeter-totter swing was wet too. I picked up baby Daniel, told the other kids to stay there while Daniel and I went to get a towel.

That’s when things got treacherous. Wet flipflops, a twenty-pounder on one hip, and a slippery hill proved more grueling than I had anticipated. Upon returning to the swings, Noel was missing. I hoisted baby Daniel back onto my hip and went in search of Noel. At least at this point, Everlee was making good on her promise and pushing two-year-old Isaiah on the swing, who was giggling and yelling, “higher!”

I found Noel coming downstairs in a new outfit: pajamas. She couldn’t bear to keep the wet, grassy clothing on another minute. I warned her it was still wet and grassy outside, but she was sure the new outfit would solve all her problems. The right pajamas can do that, I assure you.

We made it back to the swings without any falls. Everlee sat with Daniel in front of her and Noel behind her on the teeter-totter swing. Two swings, side-by-side, one Mom-mom, no problem. Until Everlee decided she didn’t want Daniel to sit in front of her anymore. Mom-mom needs at least three arms—longer ones than the T. Rex version I am sporting. I’ll be paying in pain for this little foray with the kids. They’re worth it.

Two days prior to this, I received my new handicap placard in the mail. It says “permanent” on the bottom. Thanks for the reminder. I forget sometimes, especially since I’ve been doing pretty good this summer. Even my memory has improved—apparently not enough to remember I shouldn’t have four children under five on the playground by myself.

There is a line in the placard instructions that says, “this placard replaces any previous placard immediately. Destroy any previous one.” It reminded me of what I can look forward to. One day I will receive a new, perfect, permanent body that will replace this old, damaged, temporary body. Like my old placard, this body will not just be replaced, but destroyed, cast off forever. And I will walk, run, jump, and go “up and down” (another one of Isaiah’s favorite games) without a single pain. What a day that will be!

16 Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. 17 For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. 18 So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal (2 Corinthians 4:16-18 NIV)

Crown Me

I received a crown this week. Not because I’m queen of my family (which I am). Not because I won a Mrs. Older America pageant (quilting would be my talent, so maybe I could win). And not because some dignitary of a never-before-heard-of little country arrived at my door, declaring that I am the long-lost royal heir and need to come with him to accept the crown and save my homeland from a unscrupulous neighboring kingdom that wants to turn it into an Amazon distribution center. Nope, none of the above.

The crown I received is on my tooth. After two harrowing experiences in the dental chair to prepare for this crown, this was the week the permanent crown would be fit over my tooth. There was very little pomp associated with this crowning. I expected more. It did coincide with my six-month cleaning, so the other teeth were freshly polished, looking their best. But there was a problem. It didn’t fit right.

Is this like a dress fitting? Do I need to come back two or three times while they take it in here and there to get the fit perfect? Nope. The dentist shaved it down (or whatever he was doing out of my sight). But it still didn’t fit. Then he shaved a little of the lower tooth, which was in my mouth and not anesthetized. It fit better. I left the office.

Now a few days later, it still doesn’t fit right. It feels like there is something in my mouth that doesn’t belong there. My husband says I’ll get used to it. I don’t know. It feels like I’m chewing eggshells, and I hate when even the tiniest bit of eggshell finds its way into my chewing. Maybe it will help me eat less, a silver lining.

Yesterday I read this verse, “Blessed is the man who remains steadfast under trial, for when he has stood the test, he will receive the crown of life, which God has promised to those who love him” (James 1:12 ESV). I am a baby when it comes to dental work. But one good thing, it boosts my spiritual life. My prayer life and recalling memorized Bible verses occupy every minute I’m in the chair. To me, dental work is a trial. But the crown I received for making it through doesn’t even fit right.

Of course, the kind of trial James is referring to is probably not dental work. There have been and will be more serious trials to endure. And the result of persevering under trials has more benefits besides a crown. James also says that we should count it all joy when we meet trials because trials test our faith which produces perseverance.

The kind of trials that test our faith are very difficult, but the outcome of perseverance and a deeper faith is worth the struggle. And, of course, there’s that crown, which I’m sure will be spectacular…and fit perfectly.

Going Home

I took one last walk around the neighborhood with my granddaughters before heading to the San Diego airport. It was time to go home after a week of fun in the sun.

My arrival in San Diego was a surprise to my granddaughters on their last day of school. The joy on their faces could have been because school was out for the summer, but I’ll go on thinking it was my arrival. We had a week full of fun: games, the county fair, a softball tournament, lunch in Old Town, dinner at the beach, playground time, trampoline time, pool time, ice cream, and playing inside, outside, and bayside. But now it’s time to fly back to Philadelphia, via San Antonio and Nashville (and one more vacation treat – Nashville hot chicken for dinner).

Every day, the girls would ask, “How many more days will you be here?” We counted down to this morning, when it was time to go to the airport.

About halfway through my week, I got a text that a friend of mine will also be going home soon. Cancer has brought her on this journey. Like my trip, it was unplanned until very recently. Just a few weeks ago, she wasn’t thinking about going home, but the message I got was that she will be going within a few days.

I’ve been thinking about her since the text arrived a few days ago, wondering how close she is to her final destination. I’m writing this blog on a plane somewhere between San Antonio and Nashville. I have about an hour and a half until my big blue and red bird lands in Nashville, then an hour’s wait to board another plane, and another two hours until I reach my final destination. And, of course, there’s about an hour’s drive home. Her journey will be different—much smoother and faster with fewer lines.

I wish we could know before we make it what our final homegoing will be like. I’ve been with people as they have died. Most were no longer communicating as their breathing slowed and finally stopped. There was no struggle, no indication that anything was happening. But I have also known a few who were conscious and talked about seeing something bright and beautiful. My guess is angels were there to escort them to heaven. I wonder if they are our guardian angels who have been with us all along or if there are special-assignment escort angels. Whichever it may be, one thing I know for sure is that Jesus is waiting to greet us at our final, heavenly destination.

After I struggle to get my larger-than-needed suitcase off the baggage claim conveyer in Philly, I’ll maneuver it out the doors, across the street, and up onto the platform where my husband will meet me. I am looking forward to his embrace. That anticipation helps me push against the tide in a sea of travel issues.

And tomorrow morning, when I go upstairs, I’ll be greeted by three little voices calling, “Mom-mom!” I am confident after a week away, their greeting will be even more enthusiastic than usual, reflecting the joy they will have at my return.

Jesus will greet us that way too at our final destination. He’s been getting ready for it and anticipating it. My friend’s home going is not a surprise to him. And when she arrives, he will be there greeting her with great joy, a warm embrace, and a “welcome home.”

“for we walk by faith, not by sight. Yes, we are of good courage, and we would rather be away from the body and at home with the Lord.” 2 Corinthians 5:7-8 ESV